


need to be youthfully felt, 'cause god i never felt young

by zach_stone



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Body Worship, Coming In Pants, Established Relationship, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Hickeys, M/M, Making Out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Sort of. They don't get very far but the intention is there., on god why is hickeys not already a tag i'm shocked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 09:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21425893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zach_stone/pseuds/zach_stone
Summary: It’s late enough in the afternoon that the sunlight streams warm and golden through the window, spilling a stretched rectangle of light across the foot of the bed, and Eddie and Richie have been making out for what feels like hours, but in reality has probably been like, twenty minutes. It’s still new, this thing between them — two weeks of finally confessing and allowing themselves to touch andwantin a way that Eddie has never once let himself want before.--Or, sometimes you're forty years old and letting yourself experience real love and desire for the first time, and you get to act a little bit like a teenager.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 53
Kudos: 1080





	need to be youthfully felt, 'cause god i never felt young

**Author's Note:**

> according to the book, eddie was born in november, so for his birthday i wrote him some pwp. this is only like the third time in my life i've attempted full-on smut, it's not exactly my wheelhouse, but occasionally i am possessed with the desire to try writing it, so here we are. enjoy i guess!
> 
> should mention, this exists in a world where eddie didn't get skewered by the clown. ok, carry on.

It’s late enough in the afternoon that the sunlight streams warm and golden through the window, spilling a stretched rectangle of light across the foot of the bed, and Eddie and Richie have been making out for what feels like hours, but in reality has probably been like, twenty minutes. It’s still new, this thing between them — two weeks of finally confessing and allowing themselves to touch and _ want _in a way that Eddie has never once let himself want before. 

Part of Eddie expected for the confession to be followed by them tearing each other’s clothes off and going full throttle from there, but it’s been a surprisingly slow buildup. Eddie’s got intimacy issues and a lot of anxiety surrounding his own desires, and Richie’s been more than content to move at whatever pace Eddie’s setting. And honestly, _ any _ intimacy with Richie has been something of a revelation. Richie kissing him sweetly in the mornings, Richie’s thumbs moving in the softest circles against Eddie’s knuckles, Richie’s big hands on Eddie’s waist — silly things that Eddie feels stupid for fixating on, his feelings too enormous for such small actions, but he’s never let himself _ have _this before. To want someone without the fear and self-loathing just a moment behind. He knows Richie’s in the same boat, unlearning years of internalized shame with every kiss, every affectionate touch.

Now, Eddie is propped up against the headboard with Richie hovering over him, kissing him soundly, his knees on either side of Eddie’s hips. Eddie’s hands are on Richie’s shoulders, idly smoothing along the length of them as Richie sucks on Eddie’s bottom lip and hums, warm and satisfied. They’ve done this a lot the past two weeks, and today doesn’t feel particularly different than any other day, but a hot, shivery desire pools in Eddie’s stomach and when Richie kisses the corner of his mouth, the dimple of his cheek, Eddie breathes, “Rich, give me a hickey.”

Richie stills, and leans back a little to stare at Eddie, slack-jawed. He looks dazed. Eddie frowns and pinches his shoulder, and Richie blinks a few times. “Sorry, I just short-circuited,” Richie says. He looks from Eddie’s eyes to his throat, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “You — yeah? You want that? It’s not too high school?”

“Dude, come on.”

“Okay, fuck yeah. You don’t need to ask me twice.” Richie smiles, and kisses Eddie once more on the mouth before he hooks two fingers in the collar of Eddie’s T-shirt to pull it aside, ducking down and pressing his lips to a spot on Eddie’s collarbone. At first, he’s still just kissing gently, which is nice and everything, but then he starts sucking a mark, his teeth scraping Eddie’s skin, and Eddie lets out a sharp exhale, his hand on Richie’s shoulder squeezing compulsively. He shuts his eyes. 

Richie pulls back to admire his handiwork. His saliva is cooling on Eddie’s skin, which is kind of gross, but it still makes Eddie shiver. He opens his eyes, and Richie’s smiling down at him, a little smug.

“You like that?” he breathes, kissing Eddie’s lips again.

“Mm,” Eddie hums. “Gimme another one.”

Richie laughs. “For real?” He pulls back to look at Eddie, whose expression is very serious, his eyes dark. Richie swallows, his throat bobbing. “Okay. You — take your shirt off, though, I’m not giving you any above the collar.”

“You just want an excuse to get my shirt off,” Eddie says, but he sits up a little more so he can pull his shirt over his head. He gets tangled up in it, and hears Richie laughing quietly before he reaches over to help Eddie tug it the rest of the way off. Richie tosses Eddie’s shirt over to the other side of the bed and runs his hands along Eddie’s now-bare chest, skimming up from his stomach to his pecs, scratching his nails through the sparse hair there. 

“No, I just don’t want you yelling at me when you come out of whatever horny trance you’re in right now and find out you have to wear turtlenecks for a week,” Richie says. His thumbs brush over Eddie’s nipples, and Eddie gasps, arching into the touch. “But also, yeah, I just wanted to get your shirt off.”

“Fucker,” Eddie says, not bothering to hide his smile. “Now c’mon, I asked nicely.”

“Pretty sure the exact word you used was ‘gimme,’” Richie says, grinning, and before Eddie can respond he’s leaning down again, mouth on Eddie’s chest, and sucking a new hickey right below the first one. Eddie feels Richie’s stubble against his skin, and he shudders through another jolt of arousal. 

“Fuck, Richie,” he breathes.

When Richie pulls back this time, he looks almost amused. He runs his thumb over one of the newly created marks, and Eddie hisses at the touch on the tender skin. Richie raises an eyebrow. “Hey, Eds… is this your first time getting a hickey?”

Eddie flushes, and he glances off to one side. He knows it’s embarrassing, he’s forty fucking years old. “Yeah, so?”

“You didn’t, like, fool around in college?” Richie asks. He sounds genuinely surprised, which baffles Eddie. Eddie’s pretty sure no one has ever looked at him and assumed he “fooled around” at any point in his life. He practically radiates anxiety.

“No, dude. In case you forgot, I was deeply, _ deeply _repressed. I only ever even kissed one other girl before I got married, and anything physical that happened after that was like — perfunctory.”

“Mm, _ perfunctory,” _Richie repeats. “Your bedroom talk doubles as an AP vocab test.”

“Quit being a dick,” Eddie grumbles, swatting Richie’s arm. “I get it, alright, you have more experience than I do. We don’t have to make like, a whole _ thing _about it.” 

Richie’s expression softens. “Eddie, I’m not — I’m not making fun of you or anything. Yeah, maybe technically speaking I have more experience than you in this department, and like, you might hold the title of Most Repressed, but I wasn’t far behind. Most of my sexual encounters were bathroom quickies and shit, and I spent the whole time hating myself for it. This?” He splays his hands across Eddie’s chest, and Eddie’s cheeks burn pink again. “It’s all new territory for me, too.” 

That eases whatever residual embarrassment Eddie was holding onto. He puts his hand on Richie’s cheek. “We’ll figure shit out together then,” he says. 

Richie looks incredibly fond, and he leans in close to kiss Eddie firmly. “Together,” he agrees. Then he puts his mouth to Eddie’s ear, his breath hot, and whispers, “And I might not have a lot of practical experience, but I _ do _have a pretty vivid imagination.” He shifts, and licks a stripe up Eddie’s throat, over his adam’s apple. Eddie makes a strangled noise.

“Jee-_sus, _Rich,” he says. “Hey, take your shirt off too. Fair’s fair.” 

Richie scoffs. “Fair my ass, you have like, abs. I’m not secretly ripped under here, Eds.” He pats his own stomach. Eddie rolls his eyes, sliding a hand up under Richie’s shirt to palm at his chest, slot his fingers against Richie’s ribs. Richie huffs out a startled breath. “Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me,” he wheezes, and lets Eddie help him yank his shirt off over his head. 

They haven’t really been shirtless in front of each other until now, not up close and personal like this — Eddie stares at the planes of Richie’s chest, the broad expanse of his shoulders, and a cavernous yearning opens up in the pit of his stomach. _ God, _he’s never wanted anyone the way he wants Richie. Wrapping his arms around Richie’s middle, Eddie tugs him down until they’re flush together, chest-to-chest, and kisses him soundly.

Richie hums happily against his mouth. “Like what you see, huh?” he says, teasing but with a lilt of genuine surprise. Eddie digs his nails into Richie’s back, just a little, just enough to make Richie shift against him and gasp. Richie’s leg slots between Eddie’s, and then Eddie can feel the firm, hot press of Richie’s clothed erection against his thigh. 

Eddie makes an involuntary noise that sounds like “guh,” and rocks his hips up to meet Richie’s leg, pressing his hard-on against it as he keeps kissing Richie and holding him close. It doesn’t take long before they’re grinding against each other, and this is new, too — Eddie’s kept his hips angled away when they kiss up to now, always keeping enough space between their bodies so their junk won’t touch. 

It’s not like he doesn’t _ want _to have sex with Richie, because he does, he thinks about it constantly, but in the moment — it always feels too big, too much, a hurdle he’s still trying to claw his way over. 

But this? This is fucking _ delicious, _Richie’s big hands touching all over his torso, leaving Eddie’s skin flushed and burning in their wake. Richie tilts his head to layer hot, open-mouthed kisses along Eddie’s jaw, down the column of his throat, pressing his tongue to the sweat-damp hollow of Eddie’s throat. Eddie feels like he’s on fire, squirming under Richie’s touch, his breaths labored. 

Abruptly, Richie pulls away, shifting so he’s sitting up a little more. His hands are on Eddie’s biceps, gentle, and he gazes down at Eddie, eyes roaming his bare upper body. Eddie feels a little bit splayed open, exposed; he’s flushed pink all the way down to his chest, he’s getting increasingly sweaty, and he knows his hair is all kinds of fucked up. It helps that Richie’s a wreck, too, with his glasses slipping down his nose and his lips kiss-swollen, eyes shiny with lust. He’s looking at Eddie like he wants to take a fucking bite out of him. 

“God, Eddie, you’re so fucking beautiful,” Richie breathes, and Eddie feels like he’s been punched directly in the center of his chest, because that’s not what he expected at all — hot, maybe, or even cute, but _ beautiful? _ Eddie’s never considered himself anything close to that, with his stress-rigid shoulders and the worry lines carved into his forehead, the unconscious frown that seems to be ever-present on his face. Most days he just feels fucking _ old. _ If anyone else called him beautiful, Eddie would scoff. But it’s _ Richie _ saying it, with that look on his face, and he’s the only one who ever _ has _said it, so Eddie just tries to believe him.

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond, his cheeks going hotter than they already are; it’s like his blood can’t decide whether it should be flooding his face or rushing to his dick. He just keeps huffing out breaths that sound too loud in the space between them, and then Richie is ducking down again, mouthing along Eddie’s clavicle, kissing the bruises he made before, the smattering of faint freckles on Eddie’s shoulder, his bicep. He brings Eddie’s hand to his mouth, kissing the center of his palm, right over the faint white scar. His hands continue to map Eddie’s body, his mouth following close behind, and Eddie pushes his fingers through Richie’s sweaty curls and swallows roughly. 

He’s never been touched like this, never _ let _anyone touch him like this. He feels… precious, under Richie’s hands. Not breakable, but treasured. It makes him want to cry a little bit. It’s also making him really fucking hard, his hips still shifting to seek friction against Richie’s thigh, his hip, as he slides down Eddie’s chest like he’s trying to commit every inch of skin to memory with his lips and hands. 

Richie nips at the taut skin of Eddie’s stomach, his tongue dipping into Eddie’s belly button, and Eddie yelps, tugging on Richie’s hair. He can feel Richie’s wolfish grin pressed against the heated skin of his abdomen, and he groans before pulling Richie back up the length of his body so he can kiss the smirk off his stupid, hot face. He licks into Richie’s mouth, feeling a smug sense of victory when Richie moans. 

“You’re so hot, what the fuck,” Richie pants. “God, Eddie, you make me crazy, I wanna touch you all the time, you don’t even know.”

“Then touch me,” Eddie says breathlessly. 

Richie pauses, looking into Eddie’s eyes, his gaze searching. As if they haven’t been dry humping for the past ten minutes. Still, Eddie is grateful that he’s thoughtful even when they’re both half drunk with lust and hard as hell. He nods, his heart hammering. He can feel his pulse in every part of his body, his blood sizzling through his veins. His dick is aching, and when Richie’s hand slides down Eddie’s body toward his crotch, Eddie almost swallows his own tongue. 

Richie kisses Eddie’s throat and palms Eddie’s dick once, and Eddie comes in his pants like a fucking teenager. 

His eyes squeeze shut as his orgasm knocks the breath out of him, and he’s vaguely aware of the choked moan that leaves his mouth, but he’s momentarily too overwhelmed to process anything but the pleasure that’s curling his toes, the warm, heavy weight of Richie’s hand on him, the heel of his palm still pressed against Eddie’s crotch, where a damp spot is spreading through his pants. 

“Oh,” Richie says faintly.

Eddie’s brain starts working again, enough for him to be instantly and intensely embarrassed. Jesus, how fucking old is he? A little grinding and he blows his load before Richie can even really get a hand on him? It’s fucking ridiculous, and he doesn’t want to see whatever Richie’s face is doing — he’s sure he’s about to be made fun of. He wouldn’t even _ blame _Richie, honestly. Keeping his eyes shut, he mutters, “Look, don’t even —”

“Eddie,” Richie says, and something in his voice makes Eddie crack open his eyelids, just a little. Richie is gaping at him, and he looks — _ oh. _Definitely not like he’s about to start laughing at Eddie, that’s for sure. 

“What?” Eddie fishes anyway, feeling less humiliated by the second with the way Richie can’t seem to stop staring at him, his hands stroking over Eddie’s pecs distractedly. Eddie bites his lip, and Richie’s eyelids flutter. 

“That was —” Richie shakes his head. “You’re so _ hot, _ Eddie, what the _ fuck,” _he repeats emphatically. 

“So you’ve said,” Eddie grins. He _ feels _hot. With Richie getting so handsy and practically drooling over a premature orgasm, Eddie feels sexy for maybe the first time ever. It sends a thrill up his spine. “I’m just lying here, dude,” he says. 

“Yeah, and I’m still so turned on I’m gonna explode,” Richie says. His face is a little red, and he’s really fucking sweaty, a sheen of it on his chest and neck, his forehead. In some distant corner of his brain, Eddie thinks that he should find all of this gross, they’re both messy and he should want to take a shower right now, but instead Eddie just wants to get his hands on him, wants to feel Richie’s sweat under his fingers, his mouth. He feels Richie’s dick still pressing against his leg, straining through Richie’s pants. Richie grinds forward for a little bit of relief.

“Can I jerk you off?” Eddie asks, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a single breath before he can overthink them. 

Richie’s eyes widen and his face gets even redder. He starts stammering, sounding winded, “You — you don’t — don’t feel obligated to do something for me, Eds, it’s really fine —”

“Richie,” Eddie interrupts. He puts his hand on Richie’s chest, where he can feel his pounding heart. “Do you want me to?”

“I — I mean, _ yeah, _Eds, obviously,” Richie says, slightly strangled. “If. I mean, if you’re sure you want to.”

Eddie grins. He lifts his head so he can speak close to Richie’s ear, his voice going low and quiet. “I wanna touch your cock, Rich.”

Richie makes a choked off sound, one hand clutching Eddie’s arm while the other palms desperately at his own dick. _ “Fucking shit, _Eddie, you can’t just say shit like that, I’m gonna blow it just from that.”

“Well then you’ll know how I felt,” Eddie says. Richie laughs, still sounding a little wheezy. Eddie tilts his head to slot their mouths together, slow and languid. He reaches down to nudge Richie’s hand out of the way, working open the front of his pants and reaching inside the confines of his boxers. Like everything else, it’s hot and sweaty, and it makes Eddie’s fucking mouth water. He pulls Richie’s dick free, feeling precome leak onto his hand, and he’s about to start moving when Richie reaches down to grab his wrist, stilling him.

“Eds,” he says. His eyes are screwed shut. “Are you gonna be mad if I come on you?”

Eddie snorts. “No, Richie.” He gives Richie’s dick a slow, pointed stroke, and Richie lets out all his breath.

“Just checking,” he manages. “Carry on.”

“Dumbass,” Eddie says without heat, and then he begins jacking Richie off in earnest. It’s a little difficult, an awkward angle for his wrist, and he’s sure it’s a little dry, but Richie doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes are still closed, mouth slightly open, and there’s a tiny furrow between his brows like he’s concentrating hard on the feeling of Eddie’s fingers wrapped around him. Richie’s arms are trembling on either side of Eddie’s shoulders where he’s holding himself up. His glasses are hanging off the end of his nose, the lenses fogged up. 

“Feel good?” Eddie asks.

“Uh-huh,” Richie says, bucking into Eddie’s hand. “Ohhh fuck, Eddie. I’m close.” 

Eddie cranes his neck to glance down at the space between their bodies, and he sees Richie’s dick for the first time, flushed and heavy and _ big _ in his hand, and the sight of it moving through the tight circle of his fingers knocks the wind out of Eddie’s lungs. There’s no way he could get hard again yet, he doesn’t actually have the refractory period of a teenager, but fuck if he isn’t hot as hell from this. 

He must make some audible reaction, because Richie’s eyes open and he sees what Eddie’s doing, follows his gaze. He whines, bucking his hips again. “Oh fuck. That’s so hot, Eddie, you’re so hot.”

_ “Me? _ It’s your dick, idiot, you’re the hot one. You’re fuckin’ _ gorgeous, _ Richie, Jesus.” Eddie pumps his hand faster, and Richie’s starting to make little gasping whines with every pull. “Come on, Rich. Come on, sweetheart, you make me feel so good, I wanna make you feel good, I fucking _ love _ you —” 

Eddie’s still getting used to expressing the feelings he’s kept bottled up in his chest for so long, and saying the words _ I love you _is still a challenge for him, sometimes — the old, choking fear that loving a man makes him dirty, rotten in his core — but it’s easier the more he does it, the more he lets himself love Richie fully, and right now, they tumble out of his mouth without a second thought. It must really do something for Richie, because he presses their foreheads together hard and groans, coming all over Eddie’s hand and both of their stomachs. 

Richie rides out the waves of his orgasm before his arms finally give out, and he collapses on top of Eddie, his face smushed against Eddie’s chest right beside the hickeys. His breath leaves him in loud sighs, and it’s several long moments before he manages, “God_damn, _Eds.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says wonderingly. He starts giggling. He feels euphoric, somehow weightless and grounded all at once. He didn’t know sex could be this good, for him. He didn’t know he was allowed, _ capable _of feeling this good. 

Richie kisses Eddie’s shoulder. “You’re so fucking cute. God. Was it good? Do you feel good?” 

“I feel fucking awesome,” Eddie says. He looks down at Richie, and the two of them smile sappily at each other for a moment before Eddie starts to really take stock of the fact that he can feel his own come making his underwear sticky and uncomfortable, and Richie’s come is all squished between their stomachs. Not to mention it’s still all over his hand. He wrinkles his nose a bit and says, “Actually, I definitely need to shower.” 

“Mmm, not yet,” Richie says, clinging to him. The corner of his glasses presses into Eddie’s skin, and he reaches down to pluck them off Richie’s face with his clean hand. 

“Okay, well, I’m not cuddling you until you get this come off my hand, dude,” Eddie gripes. Richie fumbles blindly for a moment before producing his discarded shirt, and Eddie uses it to wipe off his fingers. Feeling a little better, he folds his arms around Richie, scraping his nails gently up and down his back.

“I love you so much,” Richie sighs dreamily. “Next time’s gonna be even better, Eds. Next time maybe I’ll even actually touch your dick.”

Eddie snorts, swatting Richie’s arm. “Fuck off, dude, it’s not my fault you got me so worked up with your fuckin’, shoulders and shit.” 

“My _ shoulders?” _Richie repeats. “Huh.” He kisses Eddie’s collarbone, then shifts up so he can kiss him properly on the mouth. “Whatever does it for you, man, I’m not gonna complain.” He smiles, so bright and genuine that Eddie’s heart hurts. He’s helpless to do anything but grin back. “We can shower now, if you want,” Richie adds.

Eddie hums thoughtfully. They really should, but — he tugs Richie back down, holding him close and kissing his hair. “Maybe in a minute.” 

**Author's Note:**

> title from the hozier song jackie and wilson, bc that lyric makes me feral
> 
> find me on twitter @hermanngottiieb and tumblr @joshuawashinton for 24/7 reddie lockdown


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